Bat' to the Future
by Spark Vallen
Summary: Bruce Wayne travels back in time to stop his parents murder, or so he thinks. *UPDATED!* Didn't realize the final chapter(s) weren't there - thanks to my reviewer for noticing!!!
1. Prologue

Bat to the Future 

**Bat to the Future**

  


_Batman is owned by DC Comics.._

Prologue

The sixties marked the dawning of a new age in Gotham City. The city which had held its head high for over 150 years was beginning to fall from grace. The city streets were no longer as safe to walk anymore.  


The evening of Friday, October 22, 1963, changed Gotham City and a young boy's life forever. A famed Gotham doctor and his wife were slain before their young son's eyes. From that night onward, the city became progressively more dangerous.  


The young boy struggled with his grief and sorrow for a long time. Although the pain never went away, he did find a strange way to cope. This heartbroken child became a well-known figure in Gotham City and the rest of the world. This little boy grew up to become Batman.  



	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One Chapter One

Bruce Wayne did not like surprises. He had a very precise way of living his life: one side of him was a successful business man who was owner and president of the Wayne Enterprises; his other side was much, much darker and complex. This side of him was popularly known as Batman.  


Ever since his parents' deaths, he'd had recurring nightmares about that night. He would dream about saving them, only to have his plan fail or the dream end before he could help them.  


The situation facing Bruce at this moment was very similar to those nightmares about his parents, but it was far more vivid...  


Bruce stared at his surroundings. It was Gotham City of the sixties again. He was prepared for the dream to proceed. Soon his sights would change like a movie, and he'd watch them die again.  


Oddly enough, the only thing that passed was the time. There was no change in the scenery. Bruce still stood on the sidewalk of Broad Avenue at 11 a.m.  


"Oh my God.", Bruce whispered. He looked down at himself to note that he was dressed in a suit from the sixties. This had never before happened in a dream. He had always been a bystander while the events would unfold.  


"Move it mister!", shouted a man as he moved past Bruce.  


He stepped back against a lamp post and watched people go by. Although this was definitely different, he thought it still might be one of his tortured dreams.  


He walked down the sidewalk in a daze. None of his dreams had ever been so real before. Up at the corner of Broad Ave. and Second Street was the biggest newsstand in the city.  


Bruce walked up to the stand to read the headlines. All the papers were dated October 18, 1963. It was five days before his parents were supposed to die. He was certain this was not a dream.  


Bruce closed his eyes, shutting out everything around him for a moment. The footsteps behind them...the struggle...the gunshots... It could all be changed. It _would_ all be changed.  


"Hey buddy, are you gonna buy a paper or what?", asked the vendor.  


This snapped Bruce from his reverie. "What?", he questioned.  


"A paper.", repeated the vendor. "Are you gonna buy one, or are you just gonna stand there?"  


"Sure, I'll buy a paper." He picked up a Gothmam Globe and pulled a five dollar bill from his wallet. He handed it to the man.  


The newspaper vendor stared at the five, and then at Bruce. "Aren't you gonna buy anything else?"  


Not understanding, Bruce said, "No. Why?"  


The man gave Bruce a funny look. "You're gonna pay for a Globe with a five dollar bill.", he stated with disbelief.  


"So?", he said.  


The vendor cried, "The paper only costs ten cents! Do you want $4.90 change in dimes?!"  


Bruce's eyes widened. The paper was only ten cents?! He was thinking of the price in 1993. It normally would have cost him $1.25! Bruce took back the five and handed the man a dime. "Sorry.", he mumbled, embarrassed.  


"Moron.", the vendor griped.  


Bruce walked through the downtown area, peering in the shop windows. He couldn't be sure, but he thought his mother always went on Mondays to get her hair done. The most exquisite salon in Gotham, Martha's salon, was ahead on his left.  


As he neared the large glass window of the salon, Bruce slowed his pace. He mentally crossed his fingers, praying he would get a chance to see her once more. It would be the last time she would get her hair done if history repeated itself.  


Bruce stopped walking. If this wasn't a dream, he had plenty of time to save his mother! Without even remembering to look in the window, he hurried on. His new destination was the office of Dr. Thomas Wayne, his father.

  


Bruce's walk to his father's office took nearly twenty minutes due to the lunch crowd. He stared at the office building for a long time before going entering. The name, Dr. T. Wayne, was written in gold paint on the glass door. In 1993, the building had since been demolished to make way for another shopping mall.  


As Bruce forced himself to be calm, he reached out for the door handle. He failed to notice a man exiting the building at the same time. As fate would have it, the man leaving the office was Dr. Wayne. He was in a hurry to pick up his wife for lunch and failed to notice Bruce on the other side of the door.  


Dr. Wayne gave the door a hard push. Bruce, who was unaware of the oncoming door, was knocked to the ground, receiving a bump on the forehead.  


Wayne looked over the man who was sprawled across the sidewalk. "Sir, I'm so sorry! Let me help you up!", he exclaimed.  


Bruce looked into Dr. Wayne's eyes, cried, "Dad?!", and fainted.  


Chapter Two is one click away! 


	3. Chapter 2

Bat to the Future, Chapter 2 

Chapter Two

Bruce regained consciousness in unfamiliar territory. He was staring at a completely white ceiling. He was still groggy, but could hear some kind of mumbling on the other side of the room. He attemped to focus his vision and hearing to bring it back to normal.  


"...yes honey, I know we were supposed to go out for lunch... But Martha, I hit him in the head with the door!", Bruce heard. It was his father talking to Martha on the phone, he realized.  


Dr. Wayne looked back to see that Bruce was awake. "I've got to go now.", he told his wife. "I'll see you tonight." He hung up the phone and turned to Bruce.  


"That's quite a bump you have there.", he said to him.  


Bruce gingerly touched his forehead with the tips of his fingers. It was quite a bump. He put his hand back in his lap and looked at his father.  


"Look, Mr.--", Dr. Wayne stopped for he did not know his victim's name.  


And Bruce didn't readily have a last name to provide. He most certainly could not give the last name of 'Wayne'. That would lead to trouble. His mind raced. As Batman, Bruce had used many alias's when necessary. Now, he couldn't recall any of them. So, he decided to go with the first name that came to mind.  


"I'm Al Bundy.", Bruce said, extending his hand. He immediately winced as he realized as whom he'd just adressed himself. Of all the television characters out there, he had just chosen the biggest low-life of them all.  


Dr. Wayne shook his hand. "I'm Tom Wayne. Mr. Bundy, I'm truly sorry about what happened. I was in a hurry and didn't see you standing there."  


Bruce smiled. "I wasn't paying much attention either, Dr. Wayne."  


"Don't be so formal.", Wayne said. "I hit you with my door! You have every right to be so informal with me! Call me Tom."  


"Call me...Al, then.", he said, wincing again. _How could I choose  that name,_ he thought.  


"Well, Al, now that we're acquainted, can I offer you lunch?"  


"Oh no!", Bruce said hurriedly. "That's not necessary! I should be going anyhow."  


Tom Wayne looked at the man seated on his examination table. "I really wish you'd accept.", he said.  


"No, no. Thank you though." Bruce jumped off the table. He extended his hand. "I'll see you."  


Tom shook his hand. "Take care of yourself, Al."  


Bruce left the office as quickly as his feet could carry him.  


Let's head to Chapter Three 


	4. Chapter 3

Bat to the Future, Chap. 3 Chapter Three

The afternoon was heading toward early evening when Bruce Wayne entered the Gotham Convention Center. It was the premier hotel in the sixties; in the nineties, it had been converted into a shelter for the homeless.  


Bruce walked up to the registration desk. "May I help you, sir?", asked the clerk.  


"I'd like a room for the week, please.", Bruce told him. He was unaccustomed to getting a room this way. Normally, reservations were made for him.  


"You'd like a room until Sunday, sir?", the clerk questioned.  


Bruce frowned slightly, calculating in his head. If everything was supposed to happen on Friday, then a room held until Sunday would be more than enough time. "Yes, until Sunday.", he agreed.  


The clerk gave Bruce the price for the room, and he nearly laughed aloud at the man. He was used to the prices in his own time, and couldn't believe how inexpensive the sixties prices seemed. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket.  


"Could you just fill out this form, sir?", the clerk asked. "Print your name and address here, and your signature is needed right here." He pointed out the different lines with the tip of a pen.  


Bruce stared blankly at the form for a moment. He was going to have to keep his new alias of Al Bundy going for the entire trip, it seemed! But his new dilmma was, he hadn't created a home for "Al."  


The clerk saw his hestitation and asked, "Is there a problem?"  


"No. No problem at all.", Bruce replied quickly. He returned his gaze to the form in front of him. He scrawled his fake name on the paper along with a fictional address. He hastily supplied a signature.  


"Is cash alright?", he asked, voice wavering slightly.  


The clerk responded, "We do _prefer_ cash since there is no charge card for hotels."  


Bruce felt like a fool. But, he reminded himself, he wouldn't remember a detail like that from his childhood. He paid the bill.  


The clerk gave Bruce the key and asked him if he any luggage that needed to be taken to his room. With a wink and a tug on his clothes, he replied, "No, I'm traveling light."  


Before the clerk could say anything else, Bruce hurried off.

  
  


The room Bruce had paid for was not a suite like he was used to, but he wasn't looking for luxury on this trip. Sitting on the bed, he tried to recall how he got back to 1963. He had no recollection of traveling through time. The only thing Bruce remembered was the moment when he found himself on Broad Avenue.  


"It's not important.", he said aloud in the empty room. "I'm here--that's all that matters."  


Bruce walked to the balcony that extended out from his room. He looked out over Gotham City. "How am I going to pull this off?", he asked. He knew it would not be an easy task. He had already met his father, and had said nothing related to Friday night. Bruce thought of all the dreams he'd had of trying to save his parents, searching for an idea. None of his previous dreams had given him any time to plan.  


A spark of inspiration hit Bruce as he thought of Jack Napier. Jack, who was known in the nineties as the Joker, was the murderer of his parents. If he could track Jack down...  


Bruce looked down at his attire and realized he'd nee more inconspicuous clothing than the suit he was wearing. One did not walk into a high crime area wearing what he was! He looked at his watch. It was almost 6:30. If he hurried, he might find an open store that was nearby.  


He left his room and went downstairs. He had nearly reached the revolving door when he was once again knocked to the ground.  


"Al?! Oh my gosh! I've done it again!", Tom Wayne shouted in surprise.  


Bruce quickly stood. "Mom? Dad?", he whispered. He stared at Martha as if he were in a trance. Seeing her again was worse than it had been when he'd first seen his father.  


"Martha, this is the man I hit with the door this morning!", Tom explained. "Now I've knocked him down again!"  


She extended her hand to Bruce. "Hello, I'm Martha Wayne. Do excuse my husband. For such a skilled doctor, he can be quite clumsy."  


Bruce shook his mother's hand. He struggled to keep from being visibly flustered. "I'm Al Bundy, ma'am."  


"What are you doing here, Al?", Tom asked.  


"I'm... uh, staying here... Tom.", he replied. He was having a difficult time addressing his parents by their first names.  


"Well, since we've run into eachother again, literally, please join us for dinner.", Tom offered.  


Bruce said, "Well, I was on my way to do some shopping."  


"I'm afraid you won't find much open.", Martha remarked.  


"Oh?"  


"It's John T. Gotham's birthday. He founded the city back in 1789. All the stores have closed early in celebration of his birthday.", she explained.  


"Will you accept my offer now?", Tom asked with a grin.  


Since the stores were closed, celebrating the unofficial holiday, it seemed Bruce did not have many other options. "I'd be honored.", he said, returning the smile.

  


Bruce, Tom, and Martha went to the Gotham Convention Center's best restaurant. It was definitely an expensive place, but the millionare Wayne family could afford just about anything under the sun. Bruce remembered the place well from his childhood.  


It humored him that he was dining at the Center (as it was referred to by the Gothamites) with his parents again. The only difference was they did not know he was their son.  


"So, Al, where are you from?", Martha asked, peering over the menu at him.  


Bruce looked up. "I'm originally from Gotham, but I live in Chicago now.", he answered, keeping the Bundy alias going.  


"Originally from Gotham.", Tom mused. "Do your parents still live here?"  


Bruce grinned. "You could say that."  


Tom nodded. He looked back at his menu and told his guest, "Order whatever you like. It's our treat for the injuries I've inflicted upon you."  


Bruce of course tried to talk his father out of it. "Tom, that's not necessary. I--"  


"Face it, Al." he said sternly, making a face Bruce remembered his Dad making when he would have his way. "We're paying."  


As it turned out, Bruce ordered the least expensive item on the menu: a seven dollar grilled chicken salad. Tom and Martha scoffed, knowing he did it on purpose, but Bruce insisted.  


"So why isn't... Bruce here?", he asked, referring to the Wayne's nine year old son. He found it strange, asking where his younger self was.  


"He insisted on staying home and working on his book report.", Martha replied. She frowned a little, then asked, "How do you know our son?"  


He had never realized he'd been protected from other people before. Bruce felt his mother glaring at him and he felt like a kid again. He stumbled for an answer. _What did I do back then that would make me known?, he wondered._   


"I saw his picture in the papers for the essay he wrote on last year on President Kennedy. Such a remarkable boy.", Bruce explained to them.  


"Oh, we're very proud of Bruce. He was only eight when he wrote that.", Martha said, accepting his answer. Both she and Tom were beaming, thinking about their son. Bruce felt proud about the praise that was about his younger self.  


Martha turned to her husband and mumbled something to him. He nodded, then turned to Bruce. "Al, it's the weirdest thing. Martha and I were both agreeing that you really remind us of our son."  


_I wonder why,_ thought Bruce. He of course did not say this. He asked, "Why do you say so?"  


"You and he share the same mannerisms.", Martha told him. "It's almost like you two are twins from different generations. When I snapped at you-- which I apologize for--you reacted just like little Bruce. Your expression, body language... it was uncanny."  


Bruce grinned. "That is stange.", he said as if the thought was peculiar.  


The waiter came with Martha's filet mignon, Tom's fettucine, and Bruce's salad. The rest of the meal was taken in near silence. But that was not a problem for Bruce; just being in their presence was enough for him.

  
Onward to Chapter Four 


	5. Chapter 4

Bat to the Future, Chap. 4 

Chapter Four

Bruce Wayne slept like he'd never slept before. For once, he did not awaken from nightmares or restlessness. His mind was at ease, knowing he would change history.  


He awoke to bright sunshine pouring into his hotel room. As he opened his eyes, Bruce was amazed at how brilliant the light was. He wondered if it had always been that way--he had never noticed it.  


Bruce showered and dressed quickly. He left his room at 8 a.m., an hour before the department stores would open. He walked down Broad Avenue until it met Montpiler Avenue. On that corner was one of the best little restaurants in all of Gotham City--it was a coney island.  


The restaurant didn't open until 8:30, so Bruce decided to do some people- watching while he waited. Being a business day, many cars passed by the light that he happened to be standing at. A black Rolls-Royce limousine rolled to a stop about three car lengths ahead of where he stood. Bruce recognized it as the same Rolls-Royce that had been in his family for as long as he could recall.  


Surprised, Bruce walked quickly to where the car rested. It was, as he'd thought, the limo owned by the Wayne family. In the front seat was Alfred, the butler who'd been with the family since before Bruce had been born. In the backseat, staring back at Bruce, was himself.  


No, it was not his reflection in the glass. It was nine year old Bruce, who was being driven to school. He watched the man on the sidewalk carefully. The young Bruce thought the man outside the car to be very familiar. He almost reminded him of his father--almost, but not quite.  


The car accelerated as the traffic light changed to green. Young Bruce, with a perplexed expression, gave the unknown adult a small wave as they drove away. To his surprise, the man waved back at him. Then, he was gone. The limo had gone too far for Bruce to see the man.

  


The time-traveling Bruce stood there on the corner slowly pondering the experience he'd just had. The boy he had once been had just waved at him with a peculiar look of recognition in his eyes. He wondered what had made his younger counterpart wave at all.

  


After breakfast, Bruce went shopping. His one suit would not suffice for an entire week when the probability of running into his family was 100%. He entered a men's clothing store. He immediately noticed the look of terror upon the clerk's face. Something was wrong.  


The clerk faced a man who had his back to Bruce. The other man turned around after a second to reveal the gun and cash that he held. "Oh man!", the teen shouted.  


Angry that his heist had been interrupted, the kid raised the gun on Bruce. However, this move had already been anticipated, and he reacted more quickly. Before the weapon could be fired, Bruce had kicked the gun from his hand, and knocked the teen to the floor.  


Until this point, he had not realized who this would-be thief was. Looking at the stunned kid, Bruce whispered, "Jack?"  


The thief nodded slowly, afraid of what the newcomer might do. He might have had more reason to be scared if Bruce had not been Batman. The moral codes he'd set for himself still applied: he would not take a life.  


The door behind them flew open. "Gotham Police. Move back sir. We've got him.", ordered the cop.  


Bruce stared in disbelief at the cop. It was Lieutenant James Gordon. In 1993, Gordon had been the Police Commissioner for ten years.  


"Good thing I'd bought that silent alarm.", said the owner/clerk.  


Gordon turned to Bruce. "And you are, sir?"  


"Oh, Al Bundy, Lieutenant." Looking at the officer, Bruce found it hard to believe that he was the future Commissioner of Police.  


"I need to ask you a few questions, Mr. Bundy.", Gordon said. "First, why's the kid on the floor?"  


Bruce answered, "I knocked him down. I was entering the shop when I saw he was holding up the owner. Besides, he'd turned the gun on me."  


Gordon jotted this down in his notebook. "Very brave.", he commented.  


"Lieutenant, what'll happen to Napier?", he asked.  


"Oh, he'll spend a couple nights in jail. Then, who knows? I personally think they should all be sent to Stonegate Prison.", he replied. Musing, Gordon added, "I can't imagine Gotham in thirty years the way he's getting now."  


"I can't either.", Bruce agreed, starting to look over the suits. As the police officer headed for the door, Bruce mentioned, "By the way, cut down on the cigars."  


"Cigars?! But I don't smoke!", Gordon cried, shaking his head.

  


Later, Bruce wandered through Gotham Park, bubbling with happiness. Napier was out of the picture. His parents could not be murdered if Jack was in jail. It seemed his mission was fulfilled. He'd finally changed history. Bruce was eager to return to 1993 now; his parents would be in his life again. Everything would be different.  


He sat down on a bench, thinking about _how different_ it really would be with them alive again. If his parents were alive, it would mean Batman would not exist. Batman had been created to avenge the _death_ of his parents. It really would be a new way of living.  


"I'd be the playboy I pretend I am now.", Bruce whispered.  


Any other man would jump at the chance to be a powerful, millionaire playboy--but not Bruce. He realized for the first time ever that he'd be socially expected to be a rich, social butterfly like the other men of money in Gotham. Nothing in life would be serious... Party, after party, after party...  


Bruce found himself confused and embarrassed by his own thoughts. _ He was actually thinking he'd rather not his parents alive if it meant rearranging his lifestyle!_ Well, how did he really want his life??  


"My fate is sealed.", he whispered to the empty park. "Napier's been arrested." He left the bench and wandered through the park, wondering what his life was going to be like when he returned home.

  
I know you're hooked; let's head to Chapter 5! 


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five 

Chapter Five

The rest of Bruce's second day in Gotham went without any incidences. Tuesday night though, Jack Napier escaped from jail. It seemed Bruce's dreams and nightmares were on the line again.

  


Bruce Wayne woke Wednesday morning to find a Gotham Globe paper at his doorstep. He stared at the headline in shock. **"BREAK OUT AT GOTHAM CITY JAIL TUESDAY NIGHT. ALL INMATES ESCAPE."** Bruce knew he'd never find Jack Napier now that he was a fugitive. Batman could find him, but not Bruce.   


He thought quickly, devising a new plan. Bruce decided to seek out his younger self.

  


It was lunchtime for the students of John Gotham Private Elementary School. A priviledge for the young kids was lunch outdoors during nice weather. This special treatment of the children of Gotham's finest gave the adult Bruce Wayne an opportunity to speak with his younger counterpart.  


He stood between two trees, watching young Bruce. The boy sat at a picnic table with his school books and lunch, alone. Bruce remembered those solitary days vividly. He'd been the smartest student, and he'd hated it at the time. It made him an outcast from his peers.  


He walked over to the picnic table to join the boy.  


"I saw you yesterday.", young Bruce announced. He didn't look up, but kept his eyes upon his science book.  


"I know.", he said, feeling slightly uncomfortable. How did he broach the subject of his parent's dying? "Can I sit down?", he asked.  


The boy looked up and smiled. He put away his book, and said, "Sure! No one ever sits with me."  


Bruce sat down, and let his counterpart study him.  


"What can I do for you?", asked young Bruce.  


"I'm Al Bundy--", he began.  


The nine year old grinned, and exclaimed, "My Dad hit you... twice! He told me all about it!" As "Al" smiled, the boy asked, "Hey, did my dad tell you about my report card?"  


_The report card._ The trip to the Monarch Theater to see The Mark of Zorro was all because of that blasted 4.0 report card. Bruce hadn't forgotten that, but it had not been as important as the actual event that was a result of it.  


"Your report card?", Bruce choked.  


"I got a 4.0 again. Mom and Dad are taking me to see The Mark of Zorro  on Friday as a reward. Zorro's my favorite hero."  


The man known as Al said, "I need to talk to you about that."  


"About what?"  


Bruce looked at his child-self, his surroundings, and back to the boy. "I'm here to speak with you about something very important."  


"What?"  


"Well," he said, "you probably won't believe me, and I probably wouldn't have believed me either." He paused, realizing he was telling himself that he wouldn't have believed himself... and discovered that was quite confusing. Shaking his head, he continued, "What I tell you will affect the rest of your life." He tried to choose his words carefully, so as not to scare the boy.  


The young Bruce stared at him wide-eyed. He saw that Mr. Bundy was about to continue when the school bell rang. They both jumped at the sound. The boy scrambled to grab up his books.  


"I have to go.", he told Bundy apologetically. "But please, come back tomorrow." He scurried away, back into the school.  


Bruce sighed, alone in the school yard.

  


It was now late afternoon on Wednesday. Bruce still had no fool-proof plan for saving his parents. When he'd sat with his child-self, he knew how important it was to explain the grave situation with him, but he knew no way to tell him. How do you tell a nine year old that if he gets rewarded for good marks his parents will die?  


He was downtown again, thinking while he walked. Bruce began to believe it was impossible to save them at all. Every measure so far had failed! He'd managed to put Jack Napier in jail, and there was a jail break that evening! Then, as he's about to inform young Bruce of the situation, the bell rings? Those were awfully strong coincidences.  


Bruce began to wonder why he'd been transported to 1963 then. If his past, and his parent's future was unchangable, why was he there? It was a cruel form of torture, seeing that he could do nothing for them.  


His thoughts were interrupted by droplets of rain falling upon him. Bruce looked skyward to see very dark clouds overhead. A storm was about to hit Gotham. A crack of thunder sounded and the rain came down. Bruce ducked under a store's awning; he watching as people rushed about, trying to get out of the rain.  


The air was different while it rained. It felt, and smelled clean and fresh compared to that of 1993. Bruce breathed it in, enjoyed the near- pollution free air.  


Across the street from him, a man watched the DO NOT WALK sign. He wore a hat and had an umbrella over his head. Bruce decided to watch him to pass the time. The instant the sign overhead changed to WALK, the man started across the six lanes of traffic.  


Bruce's attention was diverted as he heard the sound of squealing brakes on wet concrete. A rapidly moving car struggling to stop as it approached the red light. The man who'd been crossing the road stood in the path of the car, frozen like a scared rabbit. He dropped his umbrella, revealing his identity: it was Tom Wayne.  


Bruce reacted instantaneously. With lightning speed, he dashed out into the rain, forgetting his own safety. He sprinted to his father and shoved him out of the car's path. However, he couldn't keep his balance as well as hold onto his surprised father. They both fell to the cement. The car raced through the intersection, barely avoiding a collision with the cross- traffic.  


Cheers came from those who had witnessed Bruce's heroic actions. Bruce didn't hear them. He was focused on the fact that Tom was not moving. He glanced up to see the DO NOT WALK sign flashing it's warning. He stood and picked up his dad, hauling him to the sidewalk.  


He found, upon inspection, a bump on the back of Tom's head. The crash they'd suffered when hitting the concrete had caused it.  


"I need to get him home.", said Bruce. Tom's office was around the corner from where they were now. Through the rain, he carried his father to his car.

  
Chapter Six is right here 


	7. Chapter 6

Bat to the Future, Chapter Six 

Chapter Six

"Where are his keys?!", Bruce whispered. He had to find them quickly. A passerby might think he was mugging the unconscious Tom Wayne. In the future, a mugging was a common occurrence, but in 1963, a few heads would turn.  


He searched through his trenchcoat and found no keys. Quickly, he advanced into Tom's suit coat. Bruce felt cold metal in his hand and pulled the keys out. Struggling in the rain, he managed to hold his father up and unlock the car door at the same time. He propped Wayne up in the passenger seat as best as possible, closed the door and ran to the driver's side.  


Both men drenched, Bruce started the car, leaving downtown Gotham City and heading for home.

  


It was a fifteen minute drive from the city to the peaceful countryside where Wayne Manor stood. Bruce drove the car, memories of his childhood flooding back. He recalled the Sunday trips when his father would drive, not Alfred. Those were the good old days, he thought.  


Time passed while he reminisced and soon Wayne Manor was on his left. Bruce's great-great-grandfather, Judge Solomon Wayne had built the estate back when the city was founded. Wayne had been a strict, yet fair judge. Yet he wasn't remembered for his service judicially; he was known for his hobby of architecture. Many of his designs were used for skyscrapers and other buildings in Gotham City.  


Bruce pulled up to the iron gates of Wayne Manor. A security panel stood outside his window, blocking the entry of those who did not know the code. Obviously, Bruce knew the combination. He punched it in, the gate opened and he quickly drove to the door.  


Immediately, Martha, Bruce, and Alfred exited into the rain.  


"Mr. Bundy, what are you doing here?", Martha Wayne shouted. "How did you get past our security?" She hadn't noticed her husband slumped in the passenger seat.  


"I don't have time for your questions right now! Your husband needs help!", he snapped, feeling slightly guilty for speaking to his mother that way. Alfred assisted Bruce in getting Tom out of the car and indoors. He led the group to the master bedroom where they stretched Tom out on the bed.  


"What happened?", wailed Martha. She did not take the surprise well, and was visibly shaken.  


Bruce did not respond to her question. To Alfred, he said, "Get an ice pack of some sort. He's got swelling on his head."  


Alfred rushed off. Martha sat on the edge of the bed, trembling. The younger Bruce stood at the edge of the bed. His adult counterpart ordered, "Get some dry clothes and towels. Dad's soaked!"  


The child frowned momentarily at Bundy's referring to him as "Dad," then rushed off to retrieve the items. They changed Tom into dry clothing as Alfred returned with the ice cubes wrapped in a towel.  


"Hold the ice against Dad's head.", Bruce told the boy. "It'll help reduce the swelling."  


Again, he noted the reference to his father by Bundy as "Dad." It was as if the adult as implying Tom Wayne was _his_ father too. He said nothing, dismissing it as a slip of the tongue.  


As it calmed down in the bedroom, Martha cried to Al Bundy, "What happened?"   


"If I may interject ma'am," Alfred cut in, "Mr. Bundy is drenched as well. I'll fetch him extra clothing of Mr. Wayne's. Then question him about the activities."  


She nodded through her tears. The butler dissappeared into the walk-in closet. Only now, Bruce had a chance to look at the bedroom. His parents' room was his bedroom currently. He'd move in there after their death as a way to feel closer to them.  


Alfred returned minutes later with fresh clothes. "You seem to be about Mr. Wayne's size. These should fit."  


Bruce accepted the clothing, heading off to Tom and Martha's private bathroom to change. Maybe they won't be seeing Zorro after all, he thought with a smile.  


Martha had regained her composure when Bruce returned. "Now tell us what happened.", she said, her voice threatening to crack.  


Bruce sat down on a corner of the bed gently. All eyes were upon him. He told them of Tom's near accident with the out-of-control car. Martha's lip trembled, imagining the scene. Bruce explained that he knocked Tom out of harm's way, but they had lost their balance.  


Everyone was grateful for Al Bundy's heroic actions. Alfred asked, "But how did you get passed security?"  


He answered, "Tom was conveniently conscious for a moment and gave the combination."  


They accepted his explanataion, not knowing that Tom had not been conscious at all. Since the injured man was resting, they left the room. Outside, Martha said, "Mr. Bundy, we would be honored if you would join us for dinner."   


The young Bruce begged the guest to stay. "Please stay! You can tell me what you began to explain at lunch."  


"Bundy" winced as Martha questioned, "At lunch?"  


The child responded first. "I was at a picnic table at lunch. Mr. Bundy must've been in the neighborhood; he spent his lunch with me."  


Martha shrugged it off, having too much on her mind already.  


"Will be still be able to go see Zorro?", asked Bruce with hope in his voice.  


Martha replied, "It will depend on how your father feels, dear."  


The adult Bruce prayed that Tom would not be feeling too well.  


"Can I show Mr. Bundy my train collection while dinner is being prepared?", asked the boy.  


"Yes, go ahead. I know you're quite proud of your collection, Bruce."

  


Bruce's playroom was connected by a door from his bedroom. He led Mr. Bundy through his spotless bedroom to the disorganized playroom. Bruce's toys were scattered everywhere. His trains however, were all in neat rows on tracks. The adult Bruce still had his train collection--in storage.  


"Okay, now that we're alone, tell me what you tried to at lunch.", said the nine year old, staring at him.  


Bruce looked at his counterpart and searched for a delicate way to address his grave information. He began with, "I know you are being rewarded for your excellent marks this Friday night when you go to see Zorro."  


"If we go. My dad might not feel well enough.", he reminded.  


"Well, yeah.", Bruce agreed. "But if you do go, you have to know this." He sighed deeply. "Something bad will happen after the movie."  


"Bad?", the boy repeated. "What do you mean?"  


"After you leave the movie, you'll... uh, they'll... uh...", he stuttered.   


Young Bruce watched his guest try to explain the important information. "Your parents... they'll be..." The adult just could not spit out the news. "Look," he said, "let me put it this way. Something bad will happen to your parents if you go. Please don't go see Zorro."  


The boy stared at him, thinking this through. "What will happen?"  


Bruce sighed again. "Bruce," he said, staring the boy in the eyes, "I might be able to stop the bad thing, so I don't want to scare you with _ what_ it is in case it doesn't happen." His counterpart looked at him, confused. He tried to say it more clearly. "Originally on Friday night, after the movie, the bad thing happened." He paused. "It's such a bad thing, that it will affect the rest of your life. If I can stop it, you won't have to worry."  


Young Bruce thought about the fact that Bundy was discussing events that would not happen for two more days! How could he possibly know what would happen on Friday? "Mr. Bundy, how can you be telling me what will happen on Friday, when this is Wednesday?! You'd have to be a time-traveler or something!"  


The adult Bruce of course could not explain that he was indeed a time-traveler. The boy was already quesioning him too much; he would lose all his credibility if he claimed to travel through time as well. So, he had no explanation.  


Luckily for Bruce, Alfred entered the playroom at that very moment, announcing that dinner was ready. They all left to have dinner, leaving him free from the discussion.

  
Let's go to Chapter 7 


	8. Chapter 7

Bat to the Future, Chapter 7 Chapter Seven

After a delicious meal of chicken fried steak, a Wayne family favorite, Alfred drove Bruce back to his hotel. Tom was still asleep, which made Friday night unpredictable.  


Alfred said little to Bruce, Mr. Al Bundy, on the drive through town. So, he watched the landscape go by. Alfred soon pulled the car in front of the Gotham Convention Center. Bruce hopped out, thanking the butler for the ride back.  


Later that night, around 2:30 a.m., Bruce sat in bed, wide-awake, thinking about his childhood. He found it very odd that he could not recall any of these events that had transpired in the past few days. He _knew_ he would have remembered an adult bringing his father home unconscious! And he would not have forgotten this same man's bizarre statement in his playroom.  


He possessed an excellent memory for details, yet none of this was even vaguely familiar. Bruce began to wonder if he'd been sent back to 1963 to change his own life, or the life of someone else. Maybe he'd created a paradox, and caused a break in time due to his interference in his own past; perhaps that's why he couldn't remember any of this.  


Bruce shook his head. It was an a science fiction tale by Ray Bradbury or in Back to the Future that you would cause a paradox or break in time. Besides, he reasoned, who else would he have been there to help? He knew of no other family suffering from a _major_ tragedy at the same time as his family did. Still convincing himself he'd not messed up space and time, he reasoned that he was not a guest star on Quantum Leap either; nothing like this had ever happened before!  


Yet, he had no explanation as to why he did not remember these important events in his own mind. Near 4:00 a.m., Bruce finally fell into a fitful, troubled sleep: he once again drempt his parents died.

  


Thursday morning was the kind of day when everyone would rather stay in bed. It had been pouring rain since early that morning. The dark clouds looming in the distance promised more rain to come. Bruce stared at those clouds approaching; they were, to him, much like Friday approaching. It was only one more day until his most important challenge would take place.  


He was excited that he would finally be able to change history. Bruce was thrilled he'd been given the chance to correct things. But, he was terrified that he might blow it. It was the chance of a lifetime, and everything was riding on his ability to do the right thing.  


The worst part, he decided, was he didn't know what to expect. Would everything happen the same way it had in his memory? The rest of the week had been different from his own recollections as a boy...  


He was even beginning to feel that no matter what happened he wanted to return to his own time. It was difficult to keep up the alias of Al Bundy, the mysterious man of Chicago. He had no friends or acquaintances to speak with here. They were all children in 1963! Even Alfred, his closest confidant, did not know him in this time-frame. The trip had become more depressing than he'd have thought. Strangely, Bruce even missed his role as Batman. It wasn't as if he enjoyed risking his life every night on the dangerous streets, but it did make him proud to have helped so many Gothamites.  


Bruce never would have thought he'd felt this way before his trip back in time. For the past thirty years, he had been upset by his life. He had always wished it had been different. Bruce would not have thought he would miss the lifestyle he had always wanted to change! Now, he was unsure if he did really want to interfere with destiny or not. He might've been swayed to leave the past well enough alone had he been the only person involved.  


He thought about his parents; they should not have to die so that he could have the lifestyle he _thought_ was best for him. That was very selfish. The guilt he had always carried would be even more intense knowing he could have saved them, but chose not to so he could have his preferred life.  


Bruce stepped back from the balcony, troubled.

  
On to Chapter 8 


	9. Chapter 8

Bat to the Future, Chapter 8 Chapter Eight

At Wayne Manor, Thomas Wayne woke up for the first time in eighteen hours. His vision was blurry, and his other senses felt dull as well.  


"What happened to me?", he asked groggily to his wife. She sat on the edge of their bed.  


Martha answered with a warm smile, "That kind Mr. Bundy brought you here."   


Tom mumbled, "I remember a car. It was barreling down on me. That's all I can recall."  


She patted her husband's hand. "Mr. Bundy rescued you. He saw you were in the car's path and knocked you out of the way."  


"So he brought me here?", he asked. "How did he get passed the gate?"  


"Mr. Bundy said you regained consciousness long enough to tell him.", Martha explained.  


Tom frowned a little, and said, "I don't remember, but I think not."  


Martha thought about this, but said nothing.  


He managed a weak chuckle. "All the times I knocked him down this past week... I guess he finally got me back!" He then fell back into a deep sleep.

  


Bruce left the hotel around noon, not sure what to do with himself. Naturally, he was still very nervous and anxious about Friday night. He walked down Broad Avenue. Gotham Cathedral, the oldest building in the city, loomed overhead. In 1963, the church was in remarkable condition. In 1993, plans were being made to finally renovate it, as it had stood empty for twenty years.  


He gazed at the stone gargoyles high overhead. Batman had stood along side those same statues many a time. They had the best view of the city on their perches.  


"Quite a chuch, ain't it?", remarked a voice.  


Bruce looked down to a young black boy who stood beside him. He was about eleven or twelve, he guessed. The boy bore an uncanny resemblance to the senior vice-president of Wayne Foundation, Lucius Fox.  


He agreed with the boy's assessment of the cathedral. It was spectacular. Looking to the kid, he asked, "Shouldn't you be in school?"  


The boy laughed and replied, "Lucius Fox only goes to school when he wants and that ain't often!"  


Bruce had been right. It _was_ the child version of his vice-president. "Lucius Fox?", he repeated.  


"Named after my great-grandad. And who might you be?", Lucius asked.  


"I'm Al.", Bruce fibbed. _What was this business about not going to school?,_ he wondered. The Lucius he knew in 1993 was a hard and dedicated worker. "So how often do you go to school?"  


He shrugged and answered, "Not often. I don't care to go."  


Bruce said, "Look, I know this is none of my business since we don't even know eachother, and I know you've heard this speech a million times. But, you really should go to school."  


"I know, I know.", Lucius said, nodding. He had heard that more times than he could count.  


"You never know what might become of you when you grow up.", Bruce continued. "You could change someone else's life for the better. I'd bet you would make a terrific business man someday--you'd have to have an education to do that though."  


"Ya know what, Al? I think you are right.", he admitted. "I never thought of the 'big picture.'" He spread his arms, symbolizing the 'big picture.' "I'm going back to school."  


Lucius grinned at the man with the alias of Al and ran off. Bruce watched him go. Then he happened to think of something that the adult Lucius had once told him. He had recounted the story about how he'd gotten an interest in business; the story he'd told was the conversation that he just occurred.  


Bruce shivered, though it was warm and sunny. He had just changed a person's life for the better, accidentally.

  


Around five, after having walked the city all afternoon, Bruce returned to the hotel. He was surprised when the desk clerk flagged him down to give him a message. The message was a note that Thomas Wayne had called him, and wanted Al Bundy to call at his earliest convenience. Bruce thanked the clerk and went upstairs to his room.  


"I wonder what my dad could possibly want?", he asked himself.  


He punched the telephone number and waited as the phone rang. Alfred answered in his crisp British voice, "Wayne Manor."  


"Hello, this is Al Bundy. Is Tom available? I'm returning his call.", Bruce said somewhat awkwardly.  


"I'll put you through to him.", Alfred said.  


A moment later, Tom said, "Hi Al!"  


"Hi Tom.", he said back. "I just received the message that you'd called. I was out walking all afternoon."  


"I just wanted to call and thank you for saving my life yesterday. I owe you a lot.", Tom said gratefully.  


"Oh don't thank me.", Bruce replied, self-depreciatingly. "I was only doing what any other person on the street would have."  


"I don't know about that anymore Al. But anyhow, we wanted to know if you'd come with us tomorrow evening to see The Mark of Zorro. My son insisted that you join us after what you did for me yesterday."  


Bruce winced as Tom said that they were still going to see the show. "You are still going?", he asked flatly.  


Tom replied, "Yeah, I've been feeling alright. I wouldn't want to upset little Bruce.  


"Oh.", he said simply. _No, don't upset Bruce,_ he thought sarcastically. _He won't be upset enough later._  


"So, what do you say?", he questioned. "It's our treat."  


Bruce considered the offer. It would be the perfect way to make sure he was there to divert them when the time came. He said to Tom, "Thanks! I'd be glad to join you!"  


"Great! Bruce will be so happy you're coming!", Tom exclaimed.  


The adult Bruce pretended he was equally thrilled. "Well, I'll see you guys tomorrow night then!", he said cheerfully. "Tell your wife and son hello for me."  


"Will do, Al. Until tomorrow.", Tom concluded.  


"Yes. Until tomorrow.", Bruce agreed.

  
Wow, on to Chapter 9 


	10. Chapter 9

Bat to the Future, Chapter 9 Chapter Nine

Friday, October 22, 1963 had arrived. Bruce, aka Al, spent the day stressed out, awaited nightfall. His parents, oblivious of the danger to them, went about the day normal routine. The young Bruce sat in school, pondering over Al Bundy's warning.  


At 6:30 p.m., the black Rolls-Royce limousine pulled up in front of the Gotham Convention Center. Alfred Pennyworth, opened the door for Bruce as he climbed into the car with the Wayne family. Everyone was dressed formally; the atmosphere in the car was light as they prepared to celebrate young Bruce's good grades.  


They went to dinner, then headed to the theater.At the Monarch Theater, everyone bought goodies and went to the family's private balcony to watch the Zorro film.  


Alfred had departed; he would return to pick everyone up at eleven. The way their family's guest knew the story, Alfred would only come to pick up a heartbroken child.

  


By the time the movie commenced, the nine year old boy had forgotten everything he'd been told by Mr. Bundy. This was his special night. He was able to stay up late, and watch his favorite hero on the big screen.  


Bruce's guest, however, was not enjoying the film. Every breath he took in felt like he was trying to breathe under water. He tried to remain outwardly calm.

  


The adult Bruce thought the movie had been run in slow motion when it had finally ended. It was the longest two hours in his life. Now it was time to make any move he could to save his parents.  


As they left the balcony, Tom suggested, "How does going for a walk sound? It's 10:30; Alfred won't be here for a half an hour."  


As Bruce knew, Martha agreed and so did his counterpart. It meant staying up even later to him. Bruce weakly nodded his agreement to Tom's idea. However, this promenade was going to be very brief.  


Tom led the group toward Pearl Street. When they reached the corner of Broad and Pearl, Bruce made his move. Suddenly, Bruce tripped on a broken piece of sidewalk and fell to the ground and cried out in pain. The nine year old turned to see him sprawled out on the pavement.  


"Mr. Bundy! Are you okay?", he shouted.  


The fallen Bruce clutched his ankle and said, "I believe I've sprained it!"  


Tom and Martha stood at his side. "Let me help you up.", Tom said, taking Bruce's hand.  


"Can you walk?", asked Martha.  


He gingerly tried to put pressure on his ankle, and winced in pain. In truth, there was nothing wrong with him. It was his way of stalling them so they did _not_ reach that alley.  


Tom said, "Put your arm on my shoulder. Use me as a crutch so we can get back to the theater where Alfred will be picking us up."  


Bruce did just that, hobbling along, hanging on to his father. Had it not been necessary to keep hopping on one foot, Bruce would have been dancing up and down for joy. He had succeeded in saving them; it was 10:43. They had died at 10:39.

  


Alfred pulled up to the curb at precisely 11:00 p.m. Young Bruce and Martha got in the car. Tom intended on helping his guest up from the bench to assist his entry into the limo. But this did not happen as Bruce forgot about his "sprained ankle" and effortlessly walked to the car.  


Martha gaped at him. "Your ankle certainly healed quickly.", she stated.  


Bruce looked at her blankly, not understanding what she meant. He turned to see Tom standing by the bench, dumbfounded as well. He thought about her words. "Oh my God.", he whispered, his face turning dark shades of red. "I walked to the car on my sprained ankle."  


"Get in.", Tom said sharply behind him. "You have a lot of explaining to do Mr. Bundy."

  
Click here for the final chapter... Chapter 10! 


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

The Wayne's and their perplexing guest assembled in Tom's study. Alfred brought coffee for the adults and hot chocolate for young Bruce. He insisted on staying up to hear what happened.  


Not a word had been spoken during their drive from the theater back to Wayne Manor. The Wayne's did not know what to think of their friend Bundy now.  


"Al," Tom began, "what is going on?"  


Bruce shifted in his seat and looked at everyone staring at him. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. A few seconds ticked by before he answered his father. "First," he said, "my name is not Al Bundy." He paused, letting them absorb this statement, then added, "And I'm not from Chicago either."  


"Praytell, who are you then?", Martha demanded.  


Here goes the first bomb of the evening, Bruce thought. "My name is Bruce Alan Wayne.", he told them.  


The adults looked at eachother, then back at their once trusted friend. Martha's eyes reflected menace. "Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?"  


"No.", he answered, surprised by his own calmness. "I'm your son."  


Young Bruce's eyes widened as he looked at this strange man. "What?!"  


"It's true.", he said. "I was born September 2, 1954--"  


"1954!", Tom interrupted. "How old _are_ you? I'm thirty-five and you're at least my age! Are you trying to tell me you're nine years old?!"  


Bruce said, "I know this seems impossible. But I was born in 1954." From his back pocket, he pulled out his wallet. Taking his driver's license out, he showed it to them. "I'm from the year 1993.", he stated.  


They looked at his license. "The year 1993!", Tom repeated. "How stupid do you think we are? There's no such thing as time travel."  


"Look at my license!", he insisted. "It expires in 1998!"  


"It's fake.", Martha declared angrily.  


"It's not fake.", Bruce said, exaspoerated. "Dad, look at your watch."  


"Don't call me Dad.", Tom warned.  


"Just look at your watch.", he repeated.  


Tom took off his watch and said, "Don't even try saying that they're identical. My watch has an ingraving that says--"  


"--Thomas Michael Wayne, 1963.", Bruce concluded reading from the watch he'd been wearing.  


Tom's eyes bugged, looking at Bruce's watch. It was identical to his own, though the mystery man's looked somewhat older.  


"Now, let me explain.", Bruce ordered. "Be thankful I faked my sprained ankle on the sidewalk. Had I not pulled that stunt, well... you'd be dead."  


Martha and Tom gaped at his statement. The younger Bruce simply stared at him, remembering their prior conversations.  


"As originally planned, you would have taken your walk.", he went on, pacing. "You'd have walked down to the alley at Pearl and Phillips Streets." He looked to Tom. "That's where you were planning on going, wasn't it." It was not a question.  


Tom nodded slowly.  


Bruce continued, "At that corner, two young men, Jack Napier and Bob Casperelli, would have made their presence known as they would have been following you from Broad Avenue." He paused again, letting this sink in. "Bob would've made a grab for the pearl's you're wearing, Mom." He pointed to her necklace. Engrossed in his story, she did not reprimand him for calling her Mom. Looking to Tom, he said, "Naturally, you tried to stop him, which led to a struggle."  


All eyes were on Bruce as he finished slowly, "Jack panicked because the heist didn't go smoothly and pulled his gun out. He shot and killed you both." He put his head down and folded his arms.  


Tom and Martha said nothing, initially. Then his child counterpart said, "That's what you'd been trying to tell me."  


The adult nodded gravely.  


Young Bruce said to his parents, "He tried to warn me on Wednesday. He said--"  


Tom raised his hand and told his son to be quiet. "If this is in fact true--"  


"What do you mean 'If'?!", Bruce roared. "I've lived thirty years of my life without you! I witnessed this horrible event and had to live with the fact that I could have done nothing for you!"  


Martha responded cynically with, "You are again suggesting you're our son?"  


"I'm not _suggesting_ anything.", Bruce insisted. "I'm stating that I'm your son."  


Tom said, "So you're once again saying you're from 1993?"  


It seemed the only person he'd convinced was his younger-self. Sighing, Bruce pulled a picture from his wallet. "Recognize it?", he asked.  


"Of course.", they said in unison.  


"It was our summer vacation this year.", Bruce stated. "We went to see the Grand Canyon. We stayed at the Dry Gulch Motel. I overflowed the toilet there!"  


Young Bruce flushed, embarrassed.  


"Now, note the condition of the photograph.", Bruce said, determined to prove himself. "Since this picture is only three months old, it shouldn't be yellowed with age, should it? This photograph is thirty years old. I believe the exact same photo is in Bruce's room, isn't it?"  


The young boy nodded in agreement. He asked quietly, "Does it say anything on the back?"  


Bruce handed it to him. He read it and confirmed his curiosity. "It says the same thing as mine.", he told his parents. "Only it _is_ older." He handed the picture back to its owner.  


Martha remarked, "Isn't that just an example of trick photography?"  


"Trick photography... come on! Explain the writing then!", Bruce cried.  


"I don't have to explain anything!", she snapped at him.  


"Any other proof?", Tom asked.  


"Bruce," he said to the boy, "pull up your left sleeve." He did the same. "We have identical birthmarks on our biceps."  


Both parents looked at their arms; the birthmarks were identical. However, they still did not believe. "Yours is a tatoo.", Tom stated.  


"Now why would I get a tatoo to match the birthmark of your son?", he cried, frustrated at their narrow-mindedness.  


"You tell us."  


Anyone else would have given up on them. Bruce was still determined to make them believe. "Okay," he said, "Wednesday when I saved Tom from getting hit by the car, he didn't wake up and give me the code for the gate. In 1993, I've lived here at Wayne Manor for 39 years! I think I would know the code."  


They sighed.  


Bruce rolled his eyes. What would convince them? He said, "The safe that contains all the family valuables is in a removable panel on the main staircase. The combination for that safe is 11-49-31."  


This made them shift uncomfortably.  


Seeing their attitude change, he added, "The heart-shaped ruby pendant that you wear to fundraisers and parties is not the genuine article. The real one, which is fifty years old, is also in that safe."  


Martha's jaw dropped. He couldn't possibly know this!  


"Need I say more?", he asked.  


Tom looked at the man claiming to be his son, and the nine year old who was his son. He and Martha had agreed over dinner Monday night that the man known as Al Bundy did resemble Bruce...   


"Is there any way at all you can prove your story about our being murdered?", Tom asked.  


Bruce thought about this. There really was no way to prove it to them. It wasn't as if he carried the police report in his wallet too. "I have no concrete proof on me. It's just my own knowledge. But, I know I'm your son, and thus, I know everything about you."  


Tom and Martha said nothing. Bruce made two final statements about his own life. "Bruce, when you were four, you were playing out back and fell into a big cave. It scared you half to death, and you cried and carried on until Dad came out and found you."  


The boy nodded, agreeing with the man's summary. His parents were dumbfounded by his knowledge.  


"Okay, here's my final argument. I know that no one knows this except for the three of you, Alfred, and Dr. Rottenberg, our family doctor. He helped give birth to me." He paused to meet Martha's eyes. "The reason why I'm an only child is because I gave you such a hard time at birth. You were in labor for over twenty-four hours. Even when Dr. Rottenberg gave you anesthetic, I still would not be born."  


They watched him in amazement. This was something that _no one_ could possibly know. It was the "skeleton in their closet."  


"I put so much strain on your system," he concluded, "Dr. Rottenberg said there was no way you could have any more children."  


Thomas and Martha were stunned. He knew **too** much for his story about time travel to be fake. "Well, Bruce," she said, looking at the adult version of her son, "we've no choice but to believe you. There is just no other way you could no _all_ of that."  


Tom smiled and said, "Thank you for saving our lives. I cannot imagine the pain you must have suffered all those years."  


Young Bruce grinned up at his adult-self and joked, "I'm gonna be one handsome guy when I grow up!"  


Everyone laughed.  


Tom remarked, "I can't believe--"


	12. Fin

"--that you've slept so long! Really, Master Bruce! Did you sleep well? It's two in the afternoon!", Alfred exclaimed while opening the drapes to let the sunlight in.  


"Two in the afternoon?!", Bruce cried. He sat up suddenly and looked around. In was 1993 again. Tom's study was gone; he was in his bedroom, lying in bed. "It had all been a dream?!", he shouted. "But, I--I saved them!"  


Bruce had once again suffered from a dream that he had saved his parents.

  


THE END

  



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